Separation Anxiety
by EideticGirl1
Summary: My interpretation of Lydia Martin's parents separation. T because of possible reactions to the themes. I'll change it if requested.


Separation Anxiety

The darkness of the room had long since devoured Lydia's small form. Though the sky was still pink, the everlasting summer light was not strong enough to permeate her bedroom, and she saw nothing but the blackness that enveloped her. The tear tracks that had dried on her cheeks were itchy, but Lydia couldn't bring herself to wipe them away. They were the last evidence she had of the existence of a happy relationship between her parents. Obviously that was no longer the case. The fact that she was upset surprised her; Lydia had never been a cryer, nor one to mourn losses through anything other than a stoic silence and and brave face. _But_, she thought to herself, _things change_. Even- and perhaps especially- when you aren't paying attention.

She'd barely arrived home from school that afternoon when the it had all started. A happy glow was still radiating in her chest from when her new boyfriend Jackson had brought her a bouquet of flowers, and she held the blooms in her arms reverently, like a newborn. She walked through the front door and called to her mother that she was home, dropping her bag on the kitchen table and running some water into a crystal vase for the blooms. It was then that her mother and father had walked into the room together. Lydia raised an eyebrow, but didn't panic. Her father generally worked late into the night at his office, but he sometimes surprised Lydia and her mother by taking them out to dinner. She smiled at her parents and unwrapped the paper surrounding the stems, arranging the flowers in the vase.

Then her father said, "Lydia, honey. We need to talk."

"About what?" Lydia had asked distractedly, eyes still on her flowers.

That was another thing that had surprised Lydia- it had all begun so quietly. She had never even seen her parents argue before. Sure, they'd had a few spats (that she knew about, anyway), but every married couple does. But nothing big enough to signify the finality of separation and divorce. _That's what hurts the most_, she decided, letting go of the stuffed animal she was clutching and standing up. _They didn't give me any warning_. The warm summer air of the evening kissed her her face as she walked over to her open window and stared down at the street. They had always lived here, that Lydia is certain of. She had grown up in this house, poking her nose into nooks and hiding her treasure in crannies. Now, though, she wondered if that would be the case. If her parents decided to sell the house, her home would become home for someone else in the same way her family was now just three individuals that couldn't relate to each other the way they used to.

"We still both love you," her mother had said afterward, obviously hoping in vain to stop the scrunched look on her daughter's face that happened when she was furiously angry. Lydia had only pushed her father's attempt at a comforting hand off of her shoulder and walked upstairs, waiting for someone to save her. Instead, all she got was the sound of a hushed argument, and two sets of quiet footsteps trekking into the master bedroom, ostensibly to decide who was going to retain custody of the house and Lydia herself. Lydia had heard her mother crying, but she didn't feel like playing the good daughter when everything she knew was falling apart. She was too busy crawling the walls and screaming internally.

Lydia switched on a lamp quickly, avoiding her mirror as she crossed to her closet to get changed. She shucked the clothes she had worn to school, opting for exercise clothes. Lydia rarely ran these days, but she needed to escape, and she was by no means unfit. She exited the house like a shadow of her former self, plugging in the headphones to the iPod strapped on her arm and turning on some classical music- the kind that you could listen to when you wanted to think. It was easier to think when you were running, Lydia mused. Your body is preoccupied, and your mind is left to its own devices to breathe life into hidden emotions. Lydia- despite her recent neglect of it- was a runner by nature, and had (at fourteen) developed a route so practiced that her feet took her to her destination automatically. It was a lookout, so far above the local preserve that to she almost had to scale part of the hill. Even though she was now sixteen, the view was still as magical as on the first day. The whole town came into view, and the scent of the earth and the deep forest was a calming change to the concrete-and-petrol smell that often permeated suburban areas like Beacon Hills. Lydia sat on the grass and stretched, her legs milky-pale against the ground that was fading to black in the extended twilight of summer. She had to go back soon. The lights of the town were twinkling, and they were set to start glowing much later in the summer. She would have to go now if she didn't want to descend the hill in the dark. But she didn't want to go back. She didn't want to have to be the one to atone for her parent's decision to separate. But suffering in silence was no longer an option.

When she walked back through the door after her run, smelling of sweat and the damp, muskiness of rotting pine needles, her parents were waiting. Her father's favourite travelling suitcase stood by the door, zipped up to accommodate what was obviously the significant things he owned, as well as a limited wardrobe. So her Dad was going to be the one leaving. Figures. Lydia swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. She knew the confrontation happen whether or not she wanted it to. It would be better if she could control it. She headed upstairs for a quick shower, planning on taking the extra twenty minutes to rehearse the speech that had started to come to her in fragments on the jog home.

Lydia was dressed in a camisole and a pair of shorts that looked about as distressed as she felt, and her parents sat on the couch in the sitting room while she paced in front of them, trying to find the words. When she had, she began to speak in a measured voice.

"First of all, you both need to know that I am not okay. At all. You two have made this decision on your own, and that's fine. But you need to realise that it isn't just your life that you're changing. I'm your daughter, and you've neglected to tell me that this big thing is going to be happening in my life. You are parents. That is your job, okay? Regardless of what your career is, you chose me. To have me, and take care of me. But what you're doing is not parenting, so don't try to kid yourselves."

"Lydia, that's not fair-," her father started to say.

"No," Lydia said, her emotions starting to bleed into her tone. "I'm not finished yet, and I deserve my say." When neither of them disagreed with her, she continued. "You're asking me to just let you leave me behind while you create your new lives. I thought family was sacred. You guys raised me to be honest. So I am. I'm angry, and hurt, and I know that nothing I say is going to make it better. I just want you both to know that I wholeheartedly hate the decision you made." Her mother burst into tears, and her father was frowning, but Lydia was determinedly staring them down. She was angry and sad and guilty all at once, but she was also light as air. It had taken the strength of a lion to move that mountain from her throat.

"We're so sorry, sweetheart," he mother sobbed, standing up and hugging her. Lydia didn't shy away from her as she had her father earlier. She hugged her mother, and tears started welling up in her eyes too. Her lightness was gone, replaced by an overwhelming sadness. Her father stood up and hugged her, too.

"Go and order some take-out, Mum. I'll walk Dad to the car, okay?" Lydia suggested. Her mother nodded, and left the sitting room. Lydia followed her father out to the drive in bare feet, her arms crossed and her lip jutted out to stop the tears from spilling. As he lifted the suitcase into the trunk, her father spoke.

"You can stay with me if you want to. I know that you'll probably pick your mother, but you're always welcome at my house. Well, when I get one, anyway."

"I know, Dad. But Mum needs me more, I think," Lydia decided. It was a spur of the moment choice, but she knew it was true. Her mother would need her more.

"Okay, sweetheart. The offer's open if you change your mind," he father replied, hugging her again, before getting into the car and starting the engine. His black sedan disappeared into the air, and Lydia took in a deep breath of concrete-and-petrol scented air. The tears that had threatened her earlier were dried up, and she was determined to be strong. She might not have noticed it before, but she couldn't be the only one hurting. It was finally night, a true velvet blackness enveloping Irvington. _But after the dark, comes the dawn_, she reminded herself, and closed the door on the night.


End file.
